


the scythe and the sword

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Crimson Flower Route, M/M, SOMEONE dies. guess who!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Felix sees the boar in the distance as they arrive on the Tailtean Plains, a big, hulking mass of a man.But it’s not the king who catches his eye. It’s the man that follows behind him, sitting atop a horse so black it fades into the night. His hair, so red, so bright even in the darkness. Felix jerks his head, tears his gaze away from the figure whose every line and every limb is so familiar to him that he would know them in any life.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	the scythe and the sword

“You know,” Sylvain muses, carding his fingers through Felix’s hair absentmindedly. “You and I should get married someday.”

Felix looks over at him. “We what?”

Sylvain shrugs. “It’s only fitting, isn’t it? And besides, my father expects it.”

Felix scowls, even as he feels heat rushing to his cheeks. “Don’t joke about things like that.”

“I’m not, I promise,” Sylvain says, laughing and lightly swiping his thumb across Felix’s chin. His eyes are warm. Sometimes Felix thinks he can see the whole world in Sylvain’s eyes. “But, fine, we’ll revisit the topic some other time. You’d better be ready to talk about it then.”

Yes, Felix thinks, as he huffs quietly and goes back to leaning against Sylvain’s shoulder. He squints up at the sunlight streaming through the trees. Some other time.

Felix’s earliest memory is of the knights of Fhirdiad. He can still see them in his mind’s eye: towering above him, their armor gleaming, so tall that they block out the sun. He remembers clutching at his father’s hand as he watches them march through the castle gates, mesmerized at the size of them, the way they walk in perfect lockstep.

He sneaks into Glenn’s room whenever he finds the opportunity to run his hands over the armor plates that he can only dream of wearing someday. It’s the greatest thing a person can be, he thinks. The only thing there is  _ to  _ be.

Then his brother dies, and his father weeps, and Felix learns that not even being a knight is enough to save you sometimes.

Ten years later he returns to the Kingdom. It’s on a cold and rainy day that he stands and looks over the Tailtean Plains, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, the Aegis Shield warm against his back. 

To his left, an army. To his right, a woman, clad all in red, the crown on her head gleaming dully. Her eyes are stormy in the night.

“You are absolutely certain of their formations, yes?” she says, solemn.

“Without a doubt,” Felix replies. “Your Majesty.”

Felix has spent his whole life studying the knights of Faerghus. In wonder, at first. Later, in contempt. Everything he knows about them belongs to the Imperial army now. Every technique, every blind spot. Where to hit when it comes to a knight’s armor. Where to make it hurt.

He sees the boar in the distance as they arrive on the plains, a big, hulking mass of a man, his Relic just as large and imposing at his side. But it’s not the king who catches his eye. It’s the man that follows behind him, sitting atop a horse so black it fades into the night. His hair, so red, so bright even in the darkness. Felix jerks his head, tears his gaze away from the figure whose every line and every limb is so familiar to him that he would know them in any life. All of a sudden there’s a dull ache in his chest where his heart should be.

He remembers how it felt to watch his father’s body trampled by cavalry, to hear Ingrid’s shriek of pain as she was thrown from her pegasus, dead before she hit the ground. Hasn’t he grown numb to the sight of death now, no matter how familiar? Hadn’t he vowed, as he knelt before the Emperor’s throne, that he would do anything to serve her?

The Emperor holds up a hand, her expression grim. Felix readies his blade as the Kingdom troops advance on them. This is what it means to cut his own path. He is the blade of the Empire now.

He’s killed so many in the last few years that they’ve begun to blur together. This battle is no different. No matter what insignia they bear, no matter which flag they march under, they all crumple before his sword in the end. He fights until his breath runs ragged, only faintly aware of his allies around him.

Suddenly Ferdinand is at his side, bringing his horse to a halt.

“Fraldarius,” he calls out, brandishing his lance. “Right flank.”

Felix nods curtly in response. This is a directive he and the Emperor have discussed at length. He doesn’t know how they’re doing. He doesn’t know if they’re winning. But he knows he’ll do what needs to be done.

He splits off from the main fight and crosses the stream that splits the plains in two, heads for the empty expanse that leads up to where he can faintly see Dimitri and his vanguard. A coward to the end, he thinks contemptuously. Won’t even step onto his own battlefield.

Then before he knows it the way forward is blocked by a great figure, a horse so black it fades into the night. Felix’s stomach sinks as he looks up at its rider, already knowing the face he will find there.

“Hey, Felix,” Sylvain says, and there’s an easy smile on his face, but his eyes are hard.

“Sylvain,” Felix says, unsheathes his sword with a flash and steels his resolve. “Give up here and I won’t hurt you.”

Sylvain shakes his head, still smiling. “You know I can’t do that.”

Felix clenches his jaw. “Then I have no choice but to cut through you.”

There’s not a hint of sadness or fear in Sylvain’s face. Felix has to admire what a fine knight he’s become. But still, in those eyes, a trace of sentimentality. 

“Remember when we were kids,” Sylvain says, which just isn’t fair, “and we made a promise about dying together?”

“I remember,” Felix replies.

“Well,” Sylvain says. “Seems we’re about to kill each other.”

“Sorry, Sylvain,” Felix says, though his heart is screaming in his throat. “You’ll die first.”

Felix knows everything there is to know about the knights of Faerghus. He knows every crack in their armor, every weakness in their step. 

Time moves faster in those next few moments. It’s a different person who inhabits Felix’s body then, who rolls past Sylvain’s lance and lunges forward to knock him to the ground. A different person who stands over the scrambling form, who bares his teeth and drives the blade through an opening just below the chestplate, feels it cut sickeningly easy through flesh.

Sylvain gasps out. Time stops.

Felix lifts himself up and dusts the grass off his lap, only to feel an insistent hand grasping at his wrist again.

“Come on, Felix,” Sylvain whines, petulant and needy as always. “You’re always so impatient to leave.”

“I have to train before the sun goes down,” Felix says, gently shaking Sylvain’s hand off. “You’re welcome to come with me. Seiros knows you could use some training.”

Sylvain groans in exaggerated fatigue, head lolling back. “What’s the point when you always win, anyway?” 

Felix finds the corners of his lips turning up despite himself, hates the quiet fondness that wells up in his chest.

“I’ll see you when I’m done,” he says, nudging at Sylvain’s thigh with his foot. “We’ll have plenty of time later.”

Felix falls to his knees over Sylvain’s body. The rain is coming down heavy, blurring Felix’s vision, clouding the way Sylvain gasps for breath beneath him. Felix rubs at his eyes frantically to clear them, chest heaving. The sword is still stuck in Sylvain’s stomach, stemming the blood loss - for now.

“Nice - nice blow,” Sylvain manages, and Felix has to look away from his face, so full of genuine admiration, so utterly devoid of blame, that it suffocates him.

Sylvain’s arms are shaking with the effort as he reaches out to grasp Felix’s hand. His other hand tugs at his collar and he presses Felix’s hand to his neck. Felix’s fingers curl around the string they find there. He furrows his brow. All he can think about is that he never knew Sylvain wore a necklace. He wonders how many other things he never knew.

“Rip it off,” Sylvain says, with some urgency. “I don’t have the strength.”

“Wh - what?”

“Just do it.”

Felix obliges, because how can he  _ not  _ oblige, when his oldest friend, his dearest friend, the only person he would kneel over in a battlefield, is bleeding out on the tip of his blade? With a tear the string comes away in his hand. He draws it back to find, hanging on the end, a gleaming silver band. Warm to the touch and well-polished, the crest of Gautier engraved along its side.

“Sylvain,” is all Felix can think to say. He can hardly breathe.

“Forgive me for not giving it to you sooner,” Sylvain says through gritted teeth, his eyes struggling to stay open but still fixed resolutely on Felix’s face. “But I thought perhaps - I  _ hoped, _ really - ”

_ “Sylvain,” _ Felix says again, and the word chokes him. He clutches the ring tight in his palm, presses it to his heart. Sylvain’s eyes flicker down to follow the motion and a small smile spreads across his face. He looks almost lethargic, the bastard, like he has all the time in the world. He exhales slowly, the closest thing to a sigh that he can muster.

“Isn’t it romantic?” Sylvain says, has the  _ gall _ to say, at a time like this. As though this is another grand tale of chivalry, of love that turns to tragedy, rather than what it is - just a boy, watching another boy die. “Doesn’t it break your heart?”

Felix wants to shove him, wants to scold him, wants to ask incredulously how he can still be irreverent at a time like this. Instead he just nods, because yes, _yes,_ it does. Dear God, it breaks his heart.

Sylvain hums quietly to himself, letting his head fall back onto the ground. He huffs out a breath and stares out into the blackened sky. The rain is still falling in his face, the droplets clinging to his eyelashes and slipping down his cheeks. He doesn’t close his eyes.

“It’s enough to make you want to cry,” he says, and he sounds detached, faraway. “Isn’t it… Felix?”

“Yes,” Felix says, voice ragged. He reaches out to drag his knuckles across Sylvain’s cheek, the only act of tenderness he’ll allow himself here. He watches mutely as his fingers come away stained red with blood and rain.

Sylvain’s eyes, so clear even now, gazing up into the endless sky.

Felix feels sick to his stomach at how easily the blade comes out, how swiftly it slides past steel plates and bones without any resistance. He doesn’t let himself look at Sylvain’s face as he draws the sword back. He doesn’t think he can bear it.

Another body to add to his unending list. Felix’s shoulders shake as he stands, the weight of what he’s done suddenly seeming too heavy a burden for him to bear. He presses Sylvain’s ring to his lips and closes his eyes, takes shuddering breaths to steady himself. Even as the world feels like it’s been pulled out from under his feet, he has to stay standing. What has it all been for, if he doesn’t stay standing?

In the distance he sees the battle drawing closer to where Dimitri stands and waits for his fate to meet him. Felix takes a deep breath and sheathes his sword. He leaves Sylvain in the dirt. He continues on.

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos appreciated as always


End file.
